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User blog:RRabbit42/Sunset, part 2
Sunset part 2 by Roger J. Long :: I awoke in a cold sweat. Fortunately, I was in bed alone and therefore didn’t disturb anyone. I wasn’t sure what had prompted me to decline the invitation. Later, I would be grateful that I had. I sat up, panting, trying to figure out what had frightened me. :: It only took me a moment to remember. Throwing the bedsheets to the side, I leapt out of bed and scrambled to put some clothes on. I knew I needed to hurry, but I had to control my flight so as not to waken anyone else. :: The distance to the stables was the longest I had ever traveled in my entire life. :: I carefully opened the door so as not to make any noise. A few of the horses took note of my arrival but otherwise did not stir. I looked everywhere. I couldn’t find her. Where would she be? :: My search was becoming frantic. Then I remembered. The other stable. The one that no one seemed to use any more. I quickly went to it. I called out her name. I wasn’t ready for what answered me. :: “I know why you’re here.” :: It was the quietest, saddest voice I had ever heard. It came from behind the building. :: I found her sitting behind a rock, facing away from me, though the angle of how she sat seemed wrong. :: I came to the only possible conclusion. I didn’t want to say it, but I knew I had to. :: “Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?” :: “No. I decided on this a long time ago.” :: “When?” :: She thought for a moment, then continued in that same sad voice that would haunt me for over a decade. “I think it was last year, but it wasn’t until about eight months ago that I could admit it to myself.” :: It was December now. That meant it would have been in April. :: In an instant, the pieces clicked into place. :: First had been the increased training. I had never seen a rider so devoted to her craft, nor one so willing to teach others. She had been the key to so many victories that I could not imagine what we would do without her. Now I knew I would find out. :: Next had come the suit. It looked like the standard riding uniform, but there was something different that we could not pin down. “Special delivery” was all she said. :: She had long since moved out of the guest house and had taken up permanent residence in the room adjacent to the stables. We commended her on being an example to all of the dedication it took. :: Her diet had changed. Fruits and vegetables were all she ate. A few others were vegetarian, but she said that wasn’t why. She just preferred them. We thought nothing of it. :: The final piece was when she began spending all of her time with the horses. She was often spotted just sitting with them, communing with them. Again, we were happy that she was willing to care for them so completely. :: We never noticed when we last saw her. :: We were blind. No. '''I' was blind. I would not delude myself. I missed the signs. They were there, staring me in the face. All but shouting one of my students, my friend, was hurting.'' :: I wanted to talk with her face to face. I walked around the rock and saw her. She was laying on her stomach, all four legs folded underneath her. :: I couldn’t say anything. I sank to my knees in front of her before they gave out. I buried my face in her shoulder and cried. She let me. :: As I fought to bring myself under control, I found myself rubbing her back. It took a while, but it finally sunk in what I was feeling. I drew back looked up at her in wonder. :: “You understand now. Yes, I am growing a coat. It began not long after I got my new legs.” :: “Is it permanent?” I needed to know. :: “It has been for about three months now. It was a little painful, so I didn’t go out much while it was happening.” :: Why had I not noticed before? :: I suddenly knew what would happen, what the suit was doing. She wasn’t a centaur quite yet, but that would only be a temporary stop on her journey. “How long will it take?” :: “About five more months, in the spring. Though it could be less than that now that I no longer have to hide from you what I am doing.” '''That’s' when I realized how I had missed it. She had deliberately made it so subtle, so gradual, it was almost invisible, even to those who knew her intimately.'' :: “My dear, dear girl. Why didn’t you tell me?” :: “You weren’t ready. You loved me too deeply. Against your better judgment, you would have tried to stop me. This is what I want. What I truly wanted, from day one, even though I didn’t know myself.” :: She rested a hand on my cheek with the lightest of touches. I closed my eyes, leaning into it and placed a hand of my own on top of hers, holding it for some time. I opened my eyes just as one of her front legs twitched. That reminder of what she still had to go through hit me just as hard as all the rest. :: She began shushing me, telling me not to cry. It helped, but not much. Made it hurt slightly less. :: We lapsed into silence. After a while, she spoke wistfully. :: “Promise me I’ll be ridden.” :: Almost automatically, I murmured, “I promise I’ll take care of him, daddy. Every day.” :: “What?” :: “It’s what children say when they’re trying to convince their parents to let them have a pet. They plead and beg, promising over and over that they’ll take care of the little bundle of fur, feed it, clean up after it. The parents see right through it. They know that once it becomes a chore, they’ll be the ones taking care of the pet, not the children. And yet they still say yes, just to see the joy on their children’s faces.” :: “Yes, that’s what usually happens,” she agreed. :: “Well, I’m not going to make that kind of promise. I care for you too much to offer you a platitude, saying you’ll be ridden every day. But I can promise that you will be ridden. I failed you before. I will not fail you again.” :: “Dearest, you may think you failed me, but I don’t. Had you tried to deny me who I truly was, '''then' you would have. But I can see in your eyes that you cannot convince yourself of that. Yes, you will first need to forgive yourself before you can accept what I already have.”'' :: I shook my head in denial. “I... I don’t know if I can.” :: “I understand,” she said gently. “We’re always hardest on ourselves, especially for what we feel is our fault.” :: Another silence descended. She looked up at the sky. :: “Dawn’s coming soon. You need to get back before the others awake. But before you go, we must make plans.” :: With that pronouncement, she outlined what she needed me to do. I agreed without reservation. Snapping out of my reverie, I looked around. I spotted them atop a nearby hill at a canter. Diane was loving every minute of it. Relieved, I allowed myself to dredge up those memories again. :: The following day was graduation day. The riders were happy, pleased that they had passed. With great ceremony, I presented their awards. They all headed back to the house, laughing and looking forward to the celebratory meal. :: No one noticed the one standing placidly in the distance. :: That night, I quietly made my way to the workshop. Through the tears, I brought out the tools. She had told me I would know what to put. When I was done, I returned to the lone stable, added the sign, then went back to the house before I would be missed. :: Over the next two months, I quietly retired the training. Any time there was any interest in it, I was able to deflect the request easily enough, to offer them another diversion in its place. Eventually they forgot that it was something they used to do. The ones that stayed help take care of the horses and the farm. I was grateful to those who stayed past their scheduled time to leave. :: Many of the trophies we had won in competitions were already stored in the stables, but there were a few on display in the library. It took nearly a month to remove them without being noticed. Every one with her name on it went into the workshop to replace the plate. On some, I substituted the name of our stable. Others, the ones that represented a minor victory, were simply left with just the award’s name. I suppose it was this discrepancy that had tipped Diane off. But at the time, I couldn’t bear to complete the deception. :: As I modified the trophies, I sent out a silent plea, time and time again. It seemed to work. She was not mentioned any more. :: Every morning, I got up well before the others. I changed my route each time so that no one would see a path starting to form to that stable. I made sure she was brought out for some exercise and had enough to eat for the day. I came back in and slipped into my bed. I was just able to get back to sleep for about an hour or so each time before we all began to rise. :: Each day, she tried to reassure me. Each day, I could not accept it. She was alone. :: It was on a morning early in the fourth month that she told me, “It’s time”. I kissed her gently, looking into her eyes one more time. One last time. Then I opened the door. The clatter of hooves on the path alerted me they were returning. Diane had the biggest smile on her face. It made it easy for me to return it, hiding the thoughts from just a few moments ago. “Kenny, she’s a joy! She knew instantly if I was about to lose my balance and adjusted to make sure I stayed upright.” “I told you she would take care of you.” “Yes, you did. But why did you never mention her before?” In her excitement, Diane began gesturing again with one hand. With any other horse, those sudden movements would have been a concern, but not with her. “I know she belonged to your friend. We’ve been all over these grounds. She’s been here twelve years, right? Why have we never seen her?” “Maybe you didn’t notice.” One of the mare’s ears flicked at the slight stress I had put on that last word. She turned to look at me again. I looked in her eyes and thought, “I know I didn’t. Can you ever forgive me?” “I already have,” came the silent reply. I was so startled I almost didn’t see her wink. ♦ preface ♦ part 1 ♦ part 2 ♦ part 3 ♦ part 4 ♦ part 5 ♦ epilogue ♦ ♦ [[:File:Sunset, by Roger J Long.pdf|PDF file of Sunset]] ♦ Category:Fan Fiction Category:Blog posts